A Rather Strange Situation
by Kadge Rose-Feather
Summary: Set Pre-Apocalypse. Daryl and Murphy switch places, and neither older brother (Connor & Merle) is happy about their younger sibling having such a crazy melt down.
1. Chapter 1

_**Kadge Rose-Feather**_

**2015**

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**What the Fuck is Going On?!**

* * *

Daryl woke up, his head pounding. This wasn't unusual for him. He groaned and mashed his palms into his throbbing eyes, trying to think of the last thing he remembered.

He was out hunting, in the forests near his house. He had slipped, fallen, hit his head on something hard.

His fingers branched out to touch the back of his skull on instinct, checking for any major damage. He didn't find any lumps or scratches.

Hang on though, that _couldn't_ be right. He groaned and forced open his eyes, swimming in the light that assaulted him.

He was… In a _bed_. Warm and soft; with sheets, blankets and a pillow. Not his normal resting spot, just a tattered old mattress or a sleeping bag in the woods.

Slightly panicked, but in too much pain to really care, Daryl leant over groaning as a particularly bad wave of nausea hit him right in the stomach.

God, he felt like he had a killer hangover. He brought his fingers yet again to the back of his head, expecting to draw them back with blood.

The place he was in wasn't much of an upgrade from his usual surroundings. Derelict floors, peeling walls, sparing amount of furniture. He wondered vaguely if his current whereabouts had something to do with Merle.

He hadn't seen his brother in over three years but if anyone was going to find him and drag him off to someplace new without his consent it'd be Merle.

Suddenly, a cheery Irish voice called out from the other room, making Daryl freeze.

"Hey, Murph, you finally up now?"

Daryl waited silently for 'Murph' to give this guy an answer.

God, what if he'd been picked up by some random stranger? How had this guy been so far out in the woods if that was the case? How would he have just randomly found Daryl?

Footsteps, and then the blonde man strolled right through the doorway.

"Ey, Murph, I'm talking to you." He said, looking expectantly at Daryl, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He spared a quick glance around, but sure enough, it was only him and the Irishman in the room.

"You talkin' ta me?" He muttered gruffly, but was surprised by his accent. It nearly matched the leprechauns exactly. What the hell was up with that?

"Yer the only Murphy here, aren'tcha?" The Irishman teased with an easy laugh, but Daryl didn't see what was so funny.

"Yer crazy." Daryl mumbled, not daring to speak too loudly for fear of his voice betraying him again. He pushed himself up off of the bed but didn't take another step forwards once the room around him began to spin.

"Murphy-" The leprechaun, looking worried now, held out a hand to steady him but Daryl just recoiled like he'd been slapped, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Don't touch me ye batshit mick!" He screeched. After a couple moments of tense silence he lowered his voice, but spoke again. "What'd ye fucking do, drug me? Ye a fuckin' perv as well as a psycho, aye?" The accent still freaked him out – _I'm no goddamned leprechaun! – _but he tried to ignore it for now. Shit, his head was _pounding._

A look of hurt flashed across the other man's face, and he looked so damn _sad_ that it almost made Daryl forget his anger. But then the mick tried to lay a hand on him again. This time Daryl shoved him away roughly, and the other man dared to look hurt again before he lunged at Daryl and easily pinned him in a headlock.

"Drugged ye? I couldn'ta pried the alcohol away from ye if I'd have tried, dear brother, and god knows it. Now what's all this nonsense yer spouting? Tryin' ta play some trick on yer twin, ay?"

Daryl took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down despite the panic rising in him. This guy really _was_ crazy, and right now Daryl was in a very compromised position. He tried to remain level-headed. After all, out of everyone in his family he'd always been the best at that.

"Look, I'm sorry, I don't know who ye think I might be, but I'm not yer goddamned brother and we certainly ain't twins, a'ight? My name's Daryl Dixon. I'm from Georgia, not Ireland, and I don't know what I'm doin' 'ere. Now, can you _please _let me go? I got stuff I got'ta do." He muttered, and the other man let him go swiftly.

Daryl was relieved but it only lasted a moment as the mick took his face in his hands and slapped him, _hard_.

When Daryl looked back up at him to spit out some scathing insults, the man was searching his eyes with a concentration that made Daryl stop short.

"It's me, Murphy: _Connor._ I'm yer fucking brother and 'tis isn't fucking funny. Ye want a cigarette? Some fuckin' eggs? 'Cause I'll get ya whatcha want but you gotta stop fuckin' around here, aye." Connor sounded as desperate and scared as Daryl felt, but the Georgian didn't care, pushing him away again as he massaged his cheek.

"Would ye fuckin' stop it? I told ye, my name's _Daryl_, not fuckin' Murphy or whatever." He started towards the door as fast as he could, pushing down the sickness in his stomach and the pounding in his head: all he knew was that he had to get away from this nutjob _as soon as possible_.

"Ay, where the fuck do ye think yer going?" Connor shouted, angry now.

"Wherever te fuck I want, ye don't even know me you stupid leprechaun!" Daryl shouted back, walking past the other man who, surprisingly, didn't stop him.

Daryl didn't bother to look back though as he headed past the kitchen and to the front door. He left the apartment and flew down the stairs until he was on the street.

Looking around, he realised he had no idea where he was, only that he was probably nowhere near Georgia.

He'd never seen so many cars and people in his life, and it certainly didn't make his feelings of sickness go away. Begrudgingly, he thought about how far away he might be, and that he didn't have anything on him.

No money, food, identification.

It would be a stupid idea to try and – what? Fend for himself out here? Ask strangers in this big, apathetic city if they could give him a ride back to Georgia? How the hell had he ended up wherever this was anyway?

He felt a hand clamp itself down on his shoulder, and he knew who it was before he'd even turned around but he cringed all the same when faced with the mick.

"It's fuckin' Boston, Brother, now let's get you back inside." Connor said, having been watching Daryl look around at the buildings and cars in confusion and fear.

"What do you 'tink, Murphy, do ye reckon it's alcohol poisoning? I never would have thought something like that could happen to ma own brother. The amount you can hold, thought never crossed ma damn mind. I s'appose tis is my fault then, ay." The Irishman droned on morosely, boring Daryl. He wasn't this guys goddamned brother, when was the mick gonna get that through his thick skull? But then there wasn't much else Daryl could do at the moment, no way to get where he wanted to go, and hey, the man was cooking him breakfast.

So Daryl grit his teeth and kept his mouth shut.

"I mean, if this was some elaborate prank, which I doubt your small mind could even come up wit'," Connor prattled on, pausing to see if he could get a rise out of his brother, who just remained sitting at the bench stony-faced. "Ye'd 'ave let me in on it by now." He finished with a sigh, stirring the eggs on the pan.

When they were done and he dished a plate for Daryl and joined him at the bench, lighting up a cigarette to try and calm his frayed nerves.

He was completely shocked when the man pushed him off of the barstool abruptly, sending them both crashing to the floor, the cigarette falling to the wayside.

His deluded brother held up his right hand for Connor to see his "AEQUITAS" tattoo, practically shoving it into his twin's face.

"You fuckin' tattooed me?!" He screeched manically, the fear evident all over his face.

_'Jesus, I can't just ignore this. He's fuckin' sick in the head, it's worse than I bloody imagined.'_ Connor thought, grimacing at the confusion on his dear brother's face. He raised his hands to try and get Murphy to settle down, but this only seemed to freak the other man out more as he stared at Connor's own matching tattoo.

Murphy tried to bring his fist down on his face, but Connor was too fast and used the momentum to reverse their positions, so that he was now straddling his twin.

"Fuck, Murph, calm down!" He screamed, but his brother would not listen, writhing, seething and swearing underneath him.

He didn't fucking know what to do.

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**PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW OMFG DARYL DIXON WILL VISIT YOUR HOUSE WITH COOKIES IF YOU DO**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Kadge Rose-Feather**_

**2015**

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**Seriously! Someone Tell Me What The Fuck Is Going On!**

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When Murphy woke up, he felt like his skull was being torn open by a jack-hammer.

"Bloody hell…" He murmured, digging his palms into his eyes to try and alleviate the feeling, but to no avail.

"Ahh, baby brother is awake!" A deep southern voice crowed above him, causing Murphy to freak out and fall backwards off of… whatever it was he was lying on, causing the back of his head to explode in a fresh wave of pain. He rubbed his eyes and recognized it as a couch, looking much older and tattier than anything in his and Connor's apartment.

Exactly _how much_ had he had to drink last night?

The rough-looking bald-headed man towering above him offered him a hand up.

"Woah there, Darylena, you better be careful with that head."

The confused Irishman let himself be helped, but watched the bald man with wary eyes.

"Here, let me have a look." The redneck muttered, man-handling Murphy so that he could look at the back of his head. The Irishman was in too much pain to really protest, half convinced what was going on might just be an alcohol-induced illusion. Those things could happen, right?

"Aw, shit, Darylena, you done broke the goddamned stitches!" He cursed, then threw his fist down on the arm of the couch in frustration. "What the fuck were you doin' out there by yourself anyway?! You know you ain't good at anything without your ol' brother Merle around by now, dontcha?"

He stood up, moving away and grabbing something from the countertop.

Murphy's vision was swimming, his head beating in a continual rhythm that drowned out almost all of his thoughts except for _god, it hurts _and _where's Connor?_

The redneck sat back down, muttering to himself before gently moving Murphy till he was lying down on his stomach on the couch.

Panic fluttered through the Irishman's mind at being caught in such a vulnerable position, but it was like he was watching it from a distance. He felt it, and then it had gone.

Murphy was pretty sure the man had referred to himself as "Merle" in third person earlier, and his tired mind found that amusing. He snorted.

"Merle…" He slurred. What a strange name for a man. He briefly wondered how he'd met him, and why the man was bothering with taking care of him now, or why he kept calling him by someone else's name. Though surely that was just because Murphy must have lied to him.

"Yeah, I know, baby brother. This one's gonna hurt a lil but you gotcha 'self into this mess so you better just toughen up an' take it like a man, a'right?"

Murphy laughed again, but stopped abruptly as Merle started removing the stitches from the back of his head.

"You betta be real still-like now, Darylena."

* * *

Once his brother had calmed down some, he lit another cigarette, flicking through the phonebook at the counter.

"Where'd ye say ye were from again?"

"Georgia." Murph replied sullenly, giving his twin the evil-eye.

Connor flicked through until he found the right page, and his eyes widened.

"Hm, well, t'ats curious, ay? There most certainly is a Daryl Dixon living in Georgia." _And you most certainly aren't him_, Connor wanted to comment but refrained from doing so in fear of setting his twin off again.

"Tell me somet'in I don't know, like how t'e hell I ended up here." Murphy muttered next to him, making Connor frown.

17 hours later and they were a mere two hours from where Murphy said he "lived".

Connor didn't know if humouring him was a clever thing to be doing, and he really thought his brother could benefit from seeing a professional, but he figured if this didn't work that would be there next stop. Besides, he didn't want Murph to get locked up if there was another way out of this that they could try first.

"Feels good ta be out of that stinkin' city. Back in good ol' Georgia." His twin muttered besides him – about the only thing he'd said all trip. Connor hadn't been talking much because he didn't want to be reminded about just how messed up Murphy was right now, so he tried to just focus on driving.

_But you love Boston_, is what he wanted to say, but he held his tongue.

"So… What're ye going to do when we get t'ere?" Connor asked quietly, but sparing a glance at the man next to him- his feet on the dashboard, eyes out the window.

"Don't know whatcha mean." He grumbled, making Connor frown.

"I mean what's yer plan? What're ye expectin' ta happen?"

"Noth'in. It'll just be the same as always." Daryl said resolutely, ending the discussion. But truthfully, he had a bad feeling in his gut and no idea what was going to happen. All he knew was that he was going to ditch the crazy Irishman at the first chance he got.

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**Reviews and suggestions please! I love feedback!**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Kadge Rose-Feather**_

**2015**

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**Fuck _This._**

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Connor walked out of the shop, placing a fresh cigarette firmly between his teeth, trying to stop his hands from shaking. They were a scarce twenty minutes from their destination and it was an understatement to say he was merely worried. He was fuckin' _terrified. _

As he approached the car, he tried his best to put on a brave face, smiling despite his fears. But that changed drastically as soon as he saw that the vehicle was bloody _empty_.

Dropping his cig onto the floor along with the plastic bag filled with items he'd bought as a clever way to delay their trip, he tried his best not to assume the worse.

"Connor?" He called out, and then again, a little louder. But there was no response.

"Shit, shit, fuckin' _shit!_" He looked around, but the only sign of his delusional younger brother was a pair of boot tracks leading into the woods.

* * *

Daryl had been out for quite a good couple of hours, but Merle wasn't bothered. They were Dixon men, they'd had worse and they'd have worse still. But they were tough, and it wasn't a problem.

As usual, the fridge was pretty damn bare food-wise, but it was worse than a bad idea for him to be seen in public at the moment, so he decided he'd better do a little bit of hunting. See if he could turn anything up before he got too drunk and could barely see straight.

It wasn't long outside before he could hear the sound of someone approaching, and he aimed his gun at them as steadily as he could.

He lowered it upon realizing that it was Daryl, suddenly up and around.

Wait, hang on a second, he'd come from the opposite direction, which was impossible considering Merle hadn't even seen him leave the house, not to mention upon closer inspection there was some sort of tattoo on the side of his neck, and his hand. Merle knew for a _fact_ that hadn't been there before because he'd patched him up himself and he'd seen his flesh displayed, bare as all hell.

No way would his baby brother ever be able to stand the pain of a tattoo, anyway. So who was this intruder with a similar face?

He cocked the gun again, but the other didn't raise his hands, or even slow his pace. He was barely 6 metres away at this point and Merle wasn't comfortable with that even one bit.

"You better slow right tha fuck down there, buddy. I don't know what's going on, but I sure as hell know I don't want you anywhere closer till you start explainin' it, ya hear?"

The other grumbled something incoherent under his breathe before he did stop, albeit begrudgingly, and calling out to Merle.

"What te fuck 're you doin', Merle?"

Despite the absolute insanity of the situation, he couldn't help but laugh at the man's accent. _Definitely_ wasn't Daryl. Some strange bloody lookalike? What were the odds? And to think, he hadn't even used anything today.

* * *

What had he been calling himself again? Daryl _what?_

Connor was sure he'd heard his brother use the name but in his agitated state his brain refused to let him remember the details of the conversation.

He did some desperate asking around in town and quickly found out the Dixons residence was what he was looking for, and from there locating it was a breeze. Though no one living close by seemed to be too fond of the residents, nor of his own accent. He didn't care though, as long as he found Murphy. His brother might have currently thought he could survive trampling out through the forest – but truthfully he'd never been out in one by himself in his _life_, and Connor was very afraid of what or who could get to him if he didn't hurry up.

He always felt so on edge every time he didn't have his twin within sight.

* * *

Pulling up, the situation didn't look good. There was a large, bulky looking redneck pointing a gun straight at Murphy, who didn't look phased in the slightest. He could hear the loud shouting before he got out of the car, and then all the attention was shifted to him.

He could hear his brother moaning very vocally before turning to him, looking the angriest Connor had ever seen him in his life.

"Oh, would ya just fuckin' leave me _alone_ already, ya stupid mick!"

Connor tried to calm his racing heart, tried to remind himself that his brother was nowhere near being in his right mind at the moment, but it was hard.

The almost military looking guy was looking at Connor as well, but he was laughing. Somehow this didn't help to cut the tension at all.

"And who the fuck're you?"

It was the first time Connor had spoken, but he found it hard to keep his eyes off of Murphy as he did.

"'M his brother."

The guy opened his mouth to respond, but then a figure appeared, rubbing his eyes as he stepped out of the derelict building the Dixons called a home. His eyes widened dramatically when he looked over the Irishman's way.

"Connor?" He mumbled, before his eyes landed on Murph and he started swearing like a madman with his heavy Georgian accent.

* * *

They'd been talking for hours, seated inside the property now rather than just standing arranged outside. Once they had all gotten used to the situation as much as was humanly possible, Merle thought it only right to finally voice his opinion on the matter.

"Well, I ain't got any clue how this coulda happened any more than any of you, but I think it's pretty clear what should be done here." He gestured to Connor with a tilt of his head. "You take lil leprechaun here back on to Boston, and Murph gets to stay in good old Georgia with me."

Murphy disagreed, but didn't have any chance to voice his concerns over Daryl's outrage, leaning up slightly from where he was sat, resting against the couch. "Aw hell no! I'm not going back t' that fuck-truck of a city, 'm staying right here!"

Merle shrugged as if he wasn't bothered, though his brows held a tight frown. "You think I'm having a leprechaun as a brother then you're dead fuckin' wrong."

Daryl's eyes narrowed aggressively, and his voice dropped down low. "Wouldn't make much of a difference; not like you're even around anyway."

Connor held his hands up to try and soothe the rising tension. "Alright boys, t'ats quite enough of that. We'll figure this all out and _no one_ is going _anywhere_ until we do."

But Daryl was nowhere near done, his hands coming up to wildly demonstrate his feelings.

"You come back after _three years_ and then you want to kick me out of my own fucking home?"

Merle wasn't looking at him.

"Listen to the mick, ya idiot. Ain't no one goin' nowhere so there's no need for you to be gettin' your panties in a big old bunch."

"Oh yeah, 'cause now yer on board with the Irish, _sure._"

"I ain't the one fuckin' talking like one!"

"He said, _enough!_ You fucking redneck idiots, just calm down. This isn't the time for any of your brotherly fighting _bullshit_, okay?" Surprisingly, everyone listened to Murphy and the arguments quickly ceased.

But Daryl wasn't content.

"Whatever. Fuck y'all." He mumbled, and out the door he went, crossbow slung over his shoulder moodily as he left.

"You really think that's the best idea with your-" Merle called out after him, but he stopped short as he looked over at Murphy, currently in his brothers body. "-head." He finished with a grumble, standing up to make his way to the fridge for more grog.

Murphy just rolled his eyes at the brothers' stupidity, giving his brother a relieved smile. It was the first chance they'd had to talk since being, however strangely, re-united.

"I was so fuckin' scared, Murphy, I thought you'd lost yer damn mind for sure. Well, I mean it wasn't you, but-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Connor. Truthfully I'd been out for most of it, but for the main part I had no fuckin' clue what was goin' on."

Connor gave him a tight smile, full of relief, but also pain.

"It's still so fuckin' strange, hearin' ya talk in that accent, brother."

"Aye, don't I know it. I can barely believe it myself!"

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**Thoughts?**


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